The Hero In His Final Hour by the Lady Arianrod

disclaimer: the usual. I don't own Les Mis; Victor Hugo does.

A/N: A tribute to Enjolras and the Barricades. Poem. Warning: depressing.

Enjoy!

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Dawn.

The dead decorate the streets, with a

Chain of corpses that catches the red light.

The orange glow of a summer day beckons

New life and new dreams for the mortals below.

Awake, children of the barricades!

Stand and face the murky future!

Not a sound.

Awake!

They cannot.

Inside the impregnable wall, a hero still stands.

A fair-haired son of Olympus, kin of Apollo--

Enjolras.

He soars on the wings of the dawn

To greet the future.

The future may be only twenty-four hours long,

But it is worth living to Enjolras.

The hours fall into memory, and

Apollo still has not fallen.

The barricades are being overtaken, but

Apollo does not move.

With carbine in hand, he faces the future--

His last hour.

Fifty-nine minutes pass. The enemy has nearly won.

It is his last minute.

Apollo steps forward.

"Kill me," he proclaims, with unspoken audacity.

The jester joins him in the end,

Two at one shot.

Apollo falls and so does the jester,

And the barricades are taken.

The future is here.



End.

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end notes: Review if you wish. This poem was random and depressing, I know, but maybe you can comment on it. *smiles* you all knew that the Jester was Grantaire, right? *nods* Well, tell me if I captured the essence of these characters or the barricade and etc.

Farewell!